


5 times Varric had his face bashed in & 1 time he didn't.

by Satine86



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, F/M, Gen, Mild Blood, Varric's poor nose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:51:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7310170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How many times has Varric's nose been broken?</p>
            </blockquote>





	5 times Varric had his face bashed in & 1 time he didn't.

I.

 

It hurt. Of course it fucking hurt. The pain radiated across his entire face until he wanted to vomit because of it. The blood flowing freely from his now broken nose felt hot and sticky, the taste metallic and sharp on his tongue.

He lifted a sleeve to dab at it, though it would do no good. He was certain of that. Still he tried, tried to salvage a bit of dignity. Because that was what had been truly wounded. Not his nose or his face, but his pride.

Varric glanced up with watering eyes at Bartrand, who shaking his hand and flexing his fingers as he stood over him. 

“That all ya got?” Varric asked, defiant despite being sprawled on the floor with blood gushing everywhere.

“That's all I've got for now. It should be enough to remind you who saved this family. Who has scarified for this family, and who leads it.” With that he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. Thankfully they were alone. No one privy to a family 'disagreement.'

Now that their mother was gone, Varric doubted it would be the last. Levering himself off the floor, he stumbled back to his room. He knew should find someone to help mend his nose, set it right, but what did it matter? What did any of it matter?

Besides, Varric reasoned later as he cleaned himself up, the broken nose gave him a roguish air. Why not run with it?

 

II.

 

Varric had been involved in far too many scrapes for his liking, but given his life and current occupation, it wasn't all that surprising. Even less so when you took the rabble he called friends into account.

This particular fight though? This was adding insult to injury.

Literally. 

The brawl had started simply enough, over a game of cards. Several players were already well into their cups, and the Hanged Man had been particularly rowdy to begin with. So when Isabela racked up a tidy sum, those men were none too happy. 

First it had been shouted insults and accusations, then someone had thrown a mug, a chair had been knocked over… and then shit had gone sideways from there. Only that wasn't what had Varric hopping around with a hand clapped over his nose, eyes watering profusely in pain. 

“Varric I'm–” Hawke started to apologize, looking exceedingly bashful.

“Don't say a word!” he growled, voice muffled by his hand. Varric glared at Hawke, then at Hawke's staff… which the mage was doing a very poor job of hiding. Varric was too upset to notice the entire brawl had stopped, everyone frozen in place and staring at him. 

Varric lowered his hand, could feel a small amount of blood from a gash across the bridge. “You know,” he drawled, eyeing Hawke closely. “When I said I liked the red stripe, I didn't meant I wanted to match.”

 

III.

Kirkwall was in flames.

His home in shambles, just like his life. Varric could barely focus on what needed to be done, had to be yanked along by Hawke. But how could he? How could he focus on fighting when he heard the pained screams of people who had been his neighbors. When he could hear the cries of children, and the angry shouts as templars and mages took up arms. 

This was his city. This was Kirkwall. Now he could scarcely recognize it.

Varric loped along after Hawke toward the Docks, watching as buildings burned and crumbled. Abominations springing up like there was a directed link to the Fade under Kirkwall. And maybe there was? Maybe his home was simply cursed. 

He was so caught up in the horror of it all, Varric didn’t see the falling beam, not until it smashed into his face. He was sent flying backwards, landing on the ground with the flaming wood on top of him. Hawke was quick to act, putting out the fire as Aveline hefted the beam off him. 

“Anything broken?” she asked, brusque as ever, even as her eyes surveyed him carefully. 

Varric lifted a hand to his nose, hissed at the contact. “Just my nose. Again.” 

Hawke patted his arm, looked about ready to speak. Only there wasn’t time. There wasn’t time for pain, for worry or sorrow or even anger. They had to go, and they had to go now. Varric shook his head slightly, waved everyone off.

“It’s fine. Just go. We have shit to do.” 

 

IV.

The Maker was out to get him. That was what it had to be. Because there was no other reason to explain why he’d been constantly bashed in the face for his entire adult life. 

Varric sucked in a breath, and tested the bridge of his nose. Not broken. Thank Andraste for small mercies. And at least Cass -- _The Seeker_ , he amended forcefully, the title was easier, less messy -- at least she looked appropriately contrite. She rose from her seat and took a step toward him, lifted a hand tentatively but dropped it suddenly.

“I am so sorry, Varric.”

In truth, it wasn’t exactly her fault. She did have a tendency to talk with her hands, after all. Especially when she was nervous or excited. Not that he’d been keeping track, it was just that he tended to notice things. Part of being an author, he surmised. You watched, you noticed, you remembered. 

So really it was his fault. Because he hadn’t been paying attention and he’d gotten a little too close while she was in the middle of recounting a particularly nasty brawl in the Emprise to Curly. Hand gestures included. 

“It’s fine,” he said. “No need to worry.” 

“May I buy you a drink?” she asked, eyes oddly bright. “As an apology, of course?” 

“Sure, Ca-- _Seeker_.” 

She actually smiled when he took a seat next to her, and ordered another round for the table. 

 

V.

 

In all the years he had her, Bianca had never once let him down. She was a well oiled and finely tuned machine, each mechanism in good condition and fitted perfectly. Every inch of her was well taken care of, and well loved.

That was what made this particular betrayal so hard to take.

Varric stood sputtering, a sharp pain the only thing distracting him from his disbelief. Around him the others sprang into action, fending off the bandits and keeping him safe while he was rooted, the world having slowed down to a stop. 

His nose stung, a deep, searing pain that didn’t dissipate with time. He looked down at the offending bow-string, now hanging useless from one of Bianca’s prods. It had snapped neatly, flying back and whipping him across the face. It was unbelievable. It was a travesty. He took great care to replace the strings before anything like this could happen. What had gone wrong?

Had he been sabotaged?

He was eventually pulled from his thoughts when the Inquisitor gave a celebratory short, the group obviously having vanquished their foes. The next thing Varric knew Cassandra was standing next to him, looking concerned. 

“Varric, you are bleeding.”

“Huh?” He looked at her quizzically before raising a hand to gently touch his nose. His gloved fingers came away red. “Well, ain't that the kicker?”

 

I.

 

They stood staring at each other. It wasn't the ideal confession, but when had anything pertaining to their relationship been ideal? He waited, half-expecting her to take a swing just because he had no idea what else to think. Though she looked closer to crying than anything. That was not good.

“Shit, don't cry Cassandra.” He grasped for something to say, something to make it better only to come up empty. So much for his supposed way with words. “Just.. um, just forget I said anything. It's not.. you don't need to...”

He trailed off and glanced away, not brave enough to meet Cassandra’s gaze. Though he was vaguely aware of her from the corner of his eye, moving toward him. She walked purposefully, like she always did, and he had a worried moment that maybe she actually _would_ hit him.

Instead gentle hands framed his face, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“You are such a fool,” she said, voice so achingly soft. So full of fondness. “Do you mean it?”

A reply was on the tip of his tongue, to assure her that he did mean it. Every word and more. But whatever she saw in his eyes must have been enough, because a smile bloomed on her face. She looked so happy, so damned beautiful, and he suddenly couldn't remember how to breathe.

Cassandra bent forward, rested her forehead against his. “I feel the same way,” she murmured,

His heart quite literally skipped a beat, then started hammering in his chest like he’d just ran a foot race. Cassandra straightened, her thumbs caressed his cheeks with a tenderness Varric never imagined she possessed. Let alone would ever direct toward him. 

“You love me?” he asked, voice thick and eyes locked resolutely on her chin.

She heaved a heavy sigh, shoulders drooping a bit, even as the corner of her mouth twitched. “Unfortunately, yes.” 

“Terrible thing, that.” He reached out, placed his hands on her hips and finally met her gaze. “What will you do about it?” 

“I will have to think on it.” She grinned, and he found himself feeling giddy. “In the meantime there is something I wish to do.”

“That so?” Varric quirked an eyebrow at her. At least he was fairly certain she wasn’t going to hit him. 

Cassandra hummed and bent forward again, pressing a kiss to the bridge of nose. Her lips were soft, reverent as they brushed against the break. The place that had plagued him for longer than he cared to remember. Though at the moment he couldn't think why.

Another kiss was laid against his cheek, and another to the corner of his mouth. Then she pulled back again, and Varric wondered if perhaps it was some joke. A dream? Only dwarves didn’t dream. 

Varric decided it didn’t matter. Not when she loved him. He let go of her hip and snaked his hand upward, circling behind her neck and tugging her down for a proper kiss.


End file.
